The Age Atomic

SIXTEEN

After showing Rad into the workshop, the King had excused himself and, in his shock, Rad hadn’t stopped him. Instead, Rad sat next to Kane’s machine for a while, having dragged a tall stool out from one of the workbenches. But after their greeting, Kane had drifted into unconsciousness. Rad hadn’t wanted to disturb him — the machine looked too much like an iron lung for his liking — but his mind was made up, at least. Rad’s priority was now getting Kane out of the place and to the medical attention he clearly needed. But first he had to talk to the King, find out what the machine was actually for. He desperately hoped it wasn’t keeping Kane alive. He also wanted to see what Jennifer had found, if anything.

Rad stood, and quickly made his way back upstairs.

Rad found the Corsair first, standing stock still in the lobby of the former theater. Rad let the door close quietly behind him, unwilling to disturb the mausoleum-like silence.

He checked his watch. It was now four in the morning. Maybe the King had gone to bed.

Rad looked the Corsair up and down and then cleared his throat. “Ah, you know where the King is?”

The machine didn’t move.

“OK,” said Rad, regarding the twin doors on either side of the lobby that led into the theater itself. “Guess I’ll have to find out for myself.”

He started to turn, but then jerked back in surprise. The robot had turned its head and seemed to be looking at Rad with its round glass eyes.

“Huh,” said the detective, looking over the faceplate of the robot. There was something about the shape of the eyes he thought he’d seen somewhere before. “You know, you remind me of someone.”

The robot said nothing.

“Oh, yeah, the strong silent type, I remember. Well, so long.” Rad waved over his shoulder as he left, but as he walked towards the doors he was suddenly afraid to turn around or even look behind him. One thing was for sure: the Corsair was as creepy as hell.

The King was busy on the stage-workshop, sitting on a stool so tall his feet didn’t touch the ground. There was a jeweler’s eyepiece lodged firmly between his cheekbone and eyebrow, and a thin trail of smoke drifted towards the branches of the magical tree above as he soldered something minuscule on the bench in front of him. Jazz, something soft and melodic, filled the room.

Rad paused, then strode down the center aisle between the stacks of parts, making his footfalls heavy enough that anyone should have been able to hear his approach over the music. He hated surprising people.

“Mr Bradley, welcome back.” The King didn’t look up; his mouth was a grimace of concentration. Rad took off his hat and waved it, then felt stupid and replaced it on his head. Apparently finished with his work, the King replaced the soldering iron in its cradle and looked up at the detective, jeweler’s eyepiece in situ.

“Ah, hi there,” said Rad. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and felt the hard shape of his gun. His fingers curled around it. “Where’s Agent Jones? I think we all have a little talking to do, don’t you?”

The King shuffled on his stool. “I’m sorry?”

“Talking,” said Rad. “You, me, Agent Jones, just a little pow-wow about what the hell is going on here. You’ve got a building full of weird and my old friend is lying in some kind of machine downstairs. I think we need to clear some stuff up.”

The King slid off the stool and walked to the edge of the stage. He looked down at Rad, his mouth still in the same expression of concentration as when he’d been soldering.

“Mr Bradley,” he said, “to whom are you referring?”

Rad paused. “What? Kane?”

The King shook his head. “No, the other… Jones, was it?”

Rad’s jaw went up and down, and then he let out a breath, slowly. “Where is Jennifer Jones, your majesty?” He pointed at the King with his hat.

The King shook his head and smiled. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr Bradley. I don’t know who this Jennifer Jones is.”

Rad blinked. He was feeling more ill at ease with every passing moment. He raised his hat again, stabbing it forward as he spoke.

“You tell me where Special Agent Jennifer Jones is right now, or I swear I’ll turn over every piece of junk in this place to find her.” He thought then that maybe he should have been pointing with the gun, and not his hat. The man in the blue suit in front of him seemed not even a little bit disturbed. He looked down at the detective with something like wry amusement.

Rad huffed and dropped his hand. He needed to get help, get the police up here. He still had some pull down at the Empire State Building, and once they’d discovered one of their own had vanished into the far north of the city, he’d be able to come back with a whole posse, more than enough to deal with the robots outside and the King and the Corsair, and they could get Kane out and search the whole building.

Or… maybe the King had killed Jennifer? No, that didn’t make any sense — why kill her and not him? And there had been plenty of opportunities to bump them both off since they’d arrived. Maybe Jennifer hadn’t found anything and had gotten tired of waiting and had left. Maybe that was the sensible option. She seemed to like doing her own thing.

“OK, fine, whatever, your majesty,” said Rad, throwing his hands up. “I’m gonna go get some help and we’re going to turn your little operation upside down.”

Rad turned on his heel, thinking his plan over, wondering whether he was making the right decision to leave Kane behind, helpless in the downstairs workshop. Lost in thought, his eyes fixed to the floor, he almost walked straight into the Corsair. Rad sucked a breath through clenched teeth and swept his hat off in surprise.

“What the hell?” he said. “Excuse me, I’m going to the police.”

Rad went to move forward, but the Corsair grabbed his arm holding the hat with lightning speed. Rad swore and pulled against the grip, but it was held firm.

“Hey!”

“It is not safe outside, Mr Bradley,” said the King. Rad looked up at him, the small man with the pointed beard now very tall and imposing on the stage. “The robots will have returned, and I’m afraid you would not make it very far.”

“Then turn your fancy green light on, your majesty.”

The King shook his head and tutted, almost with regret. “The lantern is still recharging. It will be nearly a full twenty-four hours before it can be lit again.”

Rad pulled again at the Corsair. The robot didn’t even rock on its feet, and Rad’s arm remained locked in place. A cold fear began to creep into Rad’s bones.

“I ain’t joking, your majesty,” he said, gritting his teeth and pulling, pulling, pulling at the robot. “Where are you keeping Jennifer? She locked up downstairs too?” Rad had an uneasy feeling. “You gave her the same story too, huh? Too dangerous to leave?”

The King shook his head. “It is for your own good, Mr Bradley. The robots will kill you for sure. You must remain here.”

The Corsair pulled Rad closer and shoved a handful of cotton wool in his face. Rad gasped as the unmistakable sickly sweet stench of chloroform assaulted his senses. He held his breath, but he knew that was no defense.

“Lock him up with Kane,” said the King, his voice a hundred thousand million miles away. Rad’s lungs were on fire. He released his breath, inhaled deeply, and the last thing he saw was the Corsair’s oddly familiar black metal face spinning in his vision.